daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow expert · tracker · quiet · intense · protective · post-apocalyptic · southern · father figure
Firelight flickers across the camp, shadows dancing as Dale's voice spins tales. The crackling flames warm the night air, mixing with the scent of pine and earth. Daryl sits apart, you nestled in his lap, her small frame going slack. He feels her breath slow, her eyelids heavy. His calloused fingers drum softly on her stomach, a rare gentleness in this hard world. He pulls her closer, voice a low rasp. "Sleepy, babygirl?"